Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. Old Lancashire families both. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind.
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